YOUR CART

So Long to All That

I’m leaving here in two days, and I’m not coming back. I’ve had my time here, years after years, I’ve been offered a good job that I have to relocate for, and I’m taking it. I’m still wondering if I’m doing the right thing, but the decision has been made and the die has been cast. My friends are being supportive, but I can see in their eyes that they think I’m making a mistake. It’s too late to change my mind now, so I have to ride it out and see where it takes me.I’m with Steve today, and we wanted to do something normal, something to remind me of where we’re from. Something to keep us out of the bars for a night too, if we’re being honest. He’s got some tickets for a baseball game, something that neither of us have shown much of an interest in previously, but something that we are both keen to do, each for the other. It’s not a big game, it’s not a big team, but it’s a Friday evening and it’s cooling after the rain, and it makes us feel good to get out of the city for a little while, riding the subway out through the suburbs we both escaped years ago, heading back to our childhood. He wants to remind me, and I want to be reminded, and this is how it will happen.We get out at the station and we don’t see anyone we know and that’s good, as this is about us and no one else. When I told him I was leaving he looked at me and laughed because he thought I was joking again, but later that night he knew that this time it was for real. It hurt him but he shrugged it off. That’s what we do – we never show our feelings to each other, except when we’re drunk, and it’s been that way since we were children. We both know what the other is thinking, and this is good because it can go unsaid. We move with the small crowd heading toward the park, and we are laughing because we’re not showing it again and we don’t need to. We head through the turnstiles and up the stairs and there’s a stand selling merchandise for the team – I buy a cap and he does too, because it’s another memory to have, a memory to be purchased cheap.The lights are on as someone sings the anthem and the sun is setting like a wildfire burning itself out over the bleachers, as a breeze is blowing lightly across the field. Is this what you want to hear? I’ll tell you anyway, and you can tell me if it’s too much. The game starts, Steve gets some beers from the stand upstairs, and it’s nice to sit there and say nothing of any importance, sit there and be together for a while. The game is good, but that’s not important; the beer is cold and good, and that seems to be enough. We watch as the game flows in front of us, the pitcher pitching and the batters coming and going, the teams too. I wonder why we never found the time to do this before he says, and I smile and say something about how life just seems to get too busy sometimes. Something like that anyway; we never really seem to find the exact words we want most times, but we know what we mean, he and I, after this long.More beers come and go, more words too, and we talk to each other, and to the team and the crowd, because that’s what people come here for – it seems like it’s more about being with a crowd, with other people, than to see what the men on the field can do. If the team wins then that’s a bonus. We do silly things to remind ourselves of days past – we put our caps on backwards and talk about some of the people we used to know, now long gone from our lives. Sometimes it’s good to remember people, even if they aren’t in your life anymore, just to feel as though they are. Some of the time, when we are talking about these friends we no longer see, it feels as though they are sitting here with us, just for a minute, the same way that they used to. Do we drink to absent friends to remember them as they were, or to wish they were with us, I ask, and he takes a long drink and says yes. And then we let it go.Later in the game and the pitcher, who everyone is agreed is one of the best the team has seen (even though we wouldn’t really know – we’re inclined to agree with them because they seem to believe it so fervently) is pitching to a very young guy from the other team, and he skies a foul ball back and over the netting in front of us – we are right behind home plate in case I hadn’t mentioned it before – and the ball flies high up into the sky, further and further, and it seems to hang over us for forever. And we don’t know what we are going to do as we stare up at it and it stares back down at us. I’m thinking that it will come down right on top of us, and I’m wondering what I will do, what he will do if it carries out it’s threat. I know he thinking the same thing as me. Eventually it falls, nearer and nearer, and I don’t know if I should get out of its way or try to catch it. It’s a long time since I’ve played catch. As if it knows this it falls and is caught by a man in front of us, and he catches it with one hand, the other hand holding his small daughter in the air. Everyone erupts, if in relief or joy it doesn’t matter, and they all slap him on the back and offer him their congratulations. His daughter is overjoyed, laughing and squealing with delight, and he gives her the ball as he places her on his shoulders, her free hand hitting his head excitedly, and a guy comes by selling beers just at that time. The ball catcher’s friend buys him one and I buy two; one for Steve and one for me.After the game, which our team won to the pleasure of all, we head back to the station and catch the subway back to the city, back to his place because I’m staying there until I leave, and we roll through all those suburbs, dark and brooding and quiet, which it seemed so difficult to escape from all those years ago. I’m thinking about those years, the life I’ve led in that time, and it makes me sad to think that they’re in the past, but life moves on constantly and all we can do is react to it and move on. Are you happy he asks, and I don’t know if he means now or about leaving or what, but I say I think so and this seems to be enough. He’s sitting next to me on the almost empty carriage, and the movement of the train makes us bump into each other every so often, and it makes me think of my Dad and how he used to put his foot on me when I would lie on the floor and watch the television with him, and how I knew that the physical contact was his way of telling me he was there, now and forever, and how I knew that. Thanks, I say, and Steve looks at me and says no problem, and we ride the rest of the way home in silence as a small shower patters against the windows of our carriage.…

The next morning I wake up late and Steve is already up and writing a report for work. I try to convince him to come for a walk with me but he says he has to finish the report, and I don’t try to convince him too hard because really I’d like a bit of time to myself anyway. You work too hard I say, and he knows this and knows that we all do, but it’s the way life is these days. I leave and go around the corner and up the road, walking a few blocks to a café that I know nearby and sit outside to have something to eat while I watch the people walking by, all these people living their lives here. The sun is shining after the rain last night, the rain which cleaned the streets a little, and I feel as though this moment is all for me. I start thinking about the new life ahead of me, this new life in a new city, but I catch myself and think about this place instead, this place I’ve known for so long, this place I am leaving tomorrow. This place called home. I pay my bill and go.I walk around one corner and then another, and I get to the park. If I’d gone the other way I would have walked by my old apartment but I don’t, because you can’t go back, and because it’s someone else’s apartment now. They will be moving in today, and they need to make it their own without a remnant of the past reminding them of a life in that place before them. They are wiping the slate clean, making a new life, and I’ll be doing that soon too. I walk through the gates and into the park, across the long stretch of grass and past people who are relaxing, enjoying the day and each other, and I walk aimlessly on. Eventually I get to some trees, and there is a small girl watching a squirrel in the grass, every so often moving toward it to watch it twitch and run as she squeals with delight. The squirrels here are used to people, of course, and it keeps coming back towards her to see if she has any food for it to eat, zigging its head to and fro, until she jumps again and it sprints back to the security of a nearby tree.I walk on until I get to a small amphitheatre set apart from the trees and surrounded by a fence, and I can see that some local drama class is putting on a play for a group of people. I lean against the chain fence, the wire making a diamond on my forehead, and I see that it is a local version of Shakespeare in the Park. The actors are very animated, running through the crowd to keep them interested and to make them feel as though they are a part of the show. The lead actor in particular is making the effort to keep everyone amused – it’s one of the comedies – and he falls over and over in the middle of a group of children at the front. But I don’t really feel like watching them today, so I move on and out of the park, crossing over the busy road next to the park and up to a cinema to watch a film – I’m not really sure why I go, but it’s something to do to kill a little time before I have to be back.The film is disappointing – another blockbuster by numbers which the studios are churning out with monotonous regularity these days – and I head back by the quick way to Steve’s place, late as usual. He’d have to be used to it after all these years I think to myself, and sure enough as I walk in he does the whole roll eyes, get lost again did we routine, all the while a smile playing in his eyes. He’s never been good at hiding his emotions, and this is a large part of why he’s my friend. He’s had a beer or two already, and his laptop is over by his big chair next to the window, laying open on some internet site or other that he’s been wasting time on while he waited for me to arrive. I grab a beer to start the catching up process while we get ready to go– we are going to some bar that his current girlfriend has picked for us, a recommendation from a friend of a friend of hers.We head out later, picking up a cab on the corner to run us across town to the snooty bar that’s been picked for us. She’s in there, Ingrid that is, and she’s with some friend who I’ve seen around but don’t know at all, and both of them are propped up against the bar, visibly annoyed that it’s so quiet, so empty in here as we walk in. Nice place, I comment as Steve smirks, we should come here more often. She hits me lightly on the arm, smiling, and that’s when I realise she might be the one for my friend after all. I hope so, anyway – the time is probably right for him to have a serious girlfriend again after all these years. We have a few drinks there, and a few to chase, but really this is not the bar for us tonight. I suggest another, the Brazilian place back across town, and everyone readily agrees.Over to the Brazilian and we realise that yes, this is the place for us as the music flows around us, the horns chasing the percussion chasing the singer, and the crowd pulls us inside and over to the bar. We have some caiparinhas, because that’s what you drink here, and we are forgetting everything for a little while. Steve disappears for a few minutes, returning to put something in my hand and say go in and sort yourself out, and we giggle like children as we head towards the toilets. And afterwards, as I run that coppery taste down the back of my throat, we giggle some more and we return to some more drinks, already bought by the girls. The other one’s called Gloria by the way, and I have no idea how you could forget a name like that so I won’t. and the music picks up, and we do too, because we are quite smart fellows really, and we laugh about that as you would, and we start dancing, Steve and Ingrid and me with that other girl who’s name I’ve forgotten, and we are really dancing well because we can, and then I notice that Saph’s on the other side of the room, my ex who I broke up with a little while ago because I knew she wasn’t the one even though she was keen to prove me wrong, and she’s watching me with her mate Penny next to her. Penny Dreadful, Steve used to call her. And I go over to say hello because I’m not a complete bastard, and she says hello back, and I buy her a drink, Dreadful too, and she says I guess you must be leaving soon, tomorrow I say, and she tells me that she’ll miss me when I’m gone, and I tell her I’ll miss her when I’m gone too, and I realise I will too. And I grab her hand and I pull her out onto the dance floor, and the music is brilliant here, it really is, and we rub up against each other as we move, and she’s looking into my eyes, staring at me as though she thinks I have every answer to every question ever. And I notice that Steve and Ingrid have gone, the other girl too. I don’t care about where Dreadful is either. And Saph and I go somewhere and maybe somewhere else and I’m still laughing because I don’t think about leaving at all.…And the next day I’m not thinking at all, because it hurts too much when I do. But it hurts when I don’t as well, so I’ll have to start soon. I look around me, peeling my eyeballs open to a slit so that I can, and I realise I am in Steve’s lounge room, and worse than that I am completely naked apart from one sock. Getting up I am hit in the head by my hand, still asleep on top of me, and I can’t see my underwear anywhere. You looking for these, Steve asks from the kitchen area as he throws them over to me using a pencil. Yes, I croak lamely as I struggle into them as quickly as I can. Which isn’t very quick at all. I head over and grab the cup of coffee out of my smirking friend’s hand and take it with me as I go and sit under the shower for half an hour or so, trying to shake off the worst of it and wishing I had a good short cut like Steve does with his smoking. That always seems to work for him.He’s cooked some bacon and eggs for me when I get out, which I look at with trepidation before realising I’ll have to have something in my stomach soon as I will regret it much more if I don’t. After the first mouthful is choked down it’s great. So what is it, I ask him, what happened? Nothing, he smiles back, and I smile wanly as I know there is no way on earth that he’s going to tell me what happened last night if I can’t remember myself. Not right now anyway. Ammunition. Ingrid’s not around, I ask. No – she ran away in horror after seeing you this morning, he laughs, and I wonder if you really do pick your friends, or whether they are picked for you. But I’d do exactly the same thing if it was him with his brains leaking from his ears instead of mine, so I can’t really argue.Come on, he says, we’ve got to go out for lunch. I look at the wall and realise that it’s 12.30 already, and I’m amazed that I’ve already lost most of my last day here, but I drag on the clothes I left in my bag for today and we go out for a last lunch with a few friends. I told Steve I don’t really want to have a big one on my last day here, especially as I’ve already had a farewell night out a couple of days ago. Thankfully he listened to me, and there’s only he and Ingrid and her mate Gloria and our mate Michelle, the one girl I’ve managed to keep as a friend and not sleep with, a fact that both amazes and pleases me in equal parts. And we sit around this table in this pub that we’ve all been to so many times, this pub that has become our local for want of anywhere better to go, the scene of so many good times, and some of them are coming back to me as I pretend to listen to my friends here. We all do this, don’t we, where we’re nodding and smiling and pretending to listen when we’re really away somewhere else?And no one can fault me this time, I think, because I’m thinking about my friends even if I’m not listening to them, and I’m thinking about that time we went for a quick drink which turned into a impromptu party at someone’s place for their housewarming and which led to another party and watching the sun come up over the city, the sun skulking between buildings, building up a head of steam before steaming up the city, with the lot of us ending up in a swimming pool in someone’s building at 7.00 in the morning, passing a bottle of vodka between us and laughing up a riot. And I’m thinking about the time we went out in town for Steve’s birthday and ended up, somehow, down the coast and sitting on the beach the next morning, all still in our good clothes with our trousers rolled up and shirts off, which led to me getting sunburned feet and not being able to go to work for a few days as I was unable to walk with shoes on. And I’m thinking about the time we weren’t drinking, and we went to the movies, Steve and Michelle and I, and we went for a coffee afterwards to discuss the movie, and ending up at some un-godly hour in the morning in a gay club, at Michelle’s insistence, laughing fit to burst as we danced in a circle with some strays we picked up somewhere else.And I’m thinking about these things as Michelle notices as she always does, and she asks what are you smiling about, and I say nothing much, just some old memories, and she smiles too because smiles are infectious that way. And I think about how blessed I’ve been to know these people, and I wonder if I’m going to be able to make friends like these people around me again. And I think that if I’m able to make friends with people like this then perhaps I have something going for me too, that perhaps I am as good as they are, and if that’s true then perhaps I won’t have any trouble making new friends there, too. And I look at my watch and realise what time it is, and realise that I’m going to have to get going so I can make my plane, so I kiss the girls goodbye and Steve and I head over to his place so I can get my bag. Do you want me to come out to the airport with you, he asks, but I say don’t bother – I don’t really like saying goodbye to people at airports, and he knows what I mean. So he walks me down the street until a cab comes and we hug and I say don’t forget to come and visit me you bastard, and he says just get the place set up and I’m there, and we look at each other, holding each others arms around the biceps as you do and we smile, and we do this until I cuff him around the back of the head, and we both laugh as I say see you and get into the cab. And we drive off, the cabbie and I, and I watch as Steve shrinks away, dwarfed by the buildings, both getting smaller as I drive down the road. (November 2001)